Linked by light
by NCR Ranger
Summary: As the Federation seeks to turn Logan Walker into one of their own, Hesh keeps saving his brother close to the front of his own mind.


**AN/:**

**Why it was decided to spit out Call of Duty 2019: Pointless Reboot ( despite that there was nothing wrong with the original Modern Warfare, ie the REAL one ), rather than a sequel to Ghosts, or a sequel Black Ops 3 ( 4 does not count ), OR something actually original and new, such as a WW1 COD set in Sub-Saharan Africa, is a true mystery. **

* * *

Southernmost point of Lake Maracaibo

Valenzuela

0645, local clock

* * *

_Whp, whp_

The muffled cough of suppressed gunfire emanating from the AAC Honey Badger was barely audible over the ceaseless _tsh, tsh, tsh_ pattering of the monsoon-level rains hitting the surface of the vast lake.

_Whp, whp whp_

Another coughing fit simultaneously erupted, from a second nearby AAC. White-orange fire flared from the weapon's muzzle, like its twin, as it spat out a volley of .300 cal, expanding tip rounds .

**Ka-rrooooombl !**

Thunder boomed like an M777 howitzer barrage from the roiling mass of tightly fused, obsidian colored, cumulonimbus ( aka " Anvil " ) storm clouds overhead. Seconds before, fingers of ivory-white lighting had flickered so fast, one could barely notice them before they were gone.

Nature's orchestra was a perfect sound cover. As if it was needed, though.

Downrange, two patrolling Federation soldiers toppled heavily into the primordial mud, felled from well placed hits. Their SA80 assault rifles fell with with, splashing into the muck alongside their wielders, and sinking halfway down.

" Two marks, _ down_. Good shooting, Walker. "

" Which one ? Me or-"

Before he'd even finished the sentence, Hesh kicked himself ( mentally ), and stopped. He knew. He _knew_, who Keegan had been referring to.

_What kind of FNG-level screwup was that ?!_

_"_ -Thank you, sir ! ", he replied, managing to cobble together a coherent response.

Keegan did not reply at first, as the Ghost operatives began to wade forward out of the chilled waves of Maracaibo, lake-water streaming and dripping off their wetsuits. His Honey Badger scanned methodically left and right, watchful for fresh hostiles, and as Hesh automatically did the same, he decided he wouldn't be surprised if the more expericned Ghost had chosen not to dignify that earlier gaffe with a response.

Hesh would defend his error if it came up, but on the other side of the coin, he didn't deny it shouldn't have happened.

_" Which one ". Come on, Hesh, you clod. Haven't you gotten it, by now ?_

_Course you have. That's the hardest thing about it.  
_

" Clear. "

Keegan lowered the HB, though he kept it at the ready. Across his back a G28 Marksman rifle hung by its straps, ready to pulled off and put to use in a " reach out and touch someone " kind of way.

The choking jungles of the South American continent were surprisingly open in places, and where they were, it was hunting season for a sniper like Keegan.

" Fortress, this is Specter Actual. ", he spoke briskly into the comms. " Blue Force Tracker still online ? "

" Affirmative, Specter Actual. ", answered their mission handler, Merrick.

The older, bearded man was serving in that capacity more often these days ( and quite ably, to boot ), what with his predecessor having been killed in action, back in Las Vegas.

" Specter has made landfall. One patrol taken out. We're proceeding on target, over. "

" Fortress copies all, Specter Actual. Be advised, storm cell is lingering on your AO. We have limited ISR until it shifts. "

" Understood, Fortress. Specter is oscar mike. Out. "

The exchange was over nearly as quickly as it began: crisp, official, and textbook. The whole mission, was going textbook.

So far.

_Ghosts work well together. Like a machine. Like a team._

_I lost a member of that team._

It was not the shower from the sky that sent an unpleasant, chilly shiver run along the length of Hesh's spine. He immediately shook it off, though. He made himself do it.

The mission had to be completed. That demanded your head in the game.

" We're operating analog from here. " Keegan checked his HB, then glanced over his shoulder at the second Ghost.

" You're a Walker. ", he added, setting off at power stride. " Come on. Live up to your name. "

" On your 6, sir. "

Hesh fell into place, as they began to forge a path into the jade mass of plants, vines, and grass that was the jungle. Mud squelched and gave way beneath their military boots.

Rain fell and fell, pattering loudly with an oddly machine-like rapid fire regularity off the surfaces of wide leaves and tree trunks. Foliage brushed and swished, as the Ghosts wove through them.

In seconds, they were both enveloped by the forest. There was nothing manmade anywhere around them ( which was somewhat dissapointing, as Hesh had been born and raised as a city kid ) ; only what had existed for over a million years. The jungle: wild and untamed, unexplored and exotic, was wrapped around them now.

It was an unsuitable place for a battle. The constrictive vegetation was an enemy in of itself.

Pushing dangling vines out of his way, Hesh was already fighting.

Not to keep carving a path forward, though. Not even to keep Keegan in sight, through the inadequate _and_ dim light that filtered way down through the canopy.

No, he was fighting _what_ the jungle itself represented to him.

Fighting to counter, what that story the old man had once told him and Logan about. The one about what the Federation was known to do, within the depths of the jungles of the continent.

_" There are ancient tribes, deep in the Amazon, who have perfected the art of torture over hundreds of years. " _

Hesh hadn't set foot in a jungle after that day, when his ( late, thanks to that bastard Rourke ) father had told the tale of the Federation's attempt to emulate the Nazis. Had he been ordered into one, he'd still have gone, because he was a dutiful American soldier, and a Ghost through and through, but for any other reason, he'd have stayed far away.

There was only 1 goal that could make him eager to dive into a jungle again. It was the counter to the tightening sensation of unease and anger that was shadowing him as closely as the gloom put out by the overhanging foliage.

_Logan. You're out here, somewhere._

_God, I wish I had your 20 right now. Stay alive**,** brother. Stay. **Alive**._

_More than that: **Hold onto** your mind with, your **back teeth**. The Feds are going to take that away. Like they did to Rourke. I don't want to find you, and then find that the Logan I grew up with is already dead and gone._

Somewhere from the sprawling forest depths, a bird of some sort screeched, and called. Hesh hardly paid attention.

What of his focus wasn't diverted to staying alert on his surroundings, was occupied with thoughts of his lost, and last, blood relative. The one who he knew was suffering in a way that made death a welcome guest.

Saving Logan wasn't Hesh's mission. Not_ yet._

_It will be, soon as I can ._

_Please, Logan. Remember my name._

_ Remember my name._

* * *

" **HEEEEEEEEEEESSSSHHHH...uuuuuuuuugh.**..**.H-HESH** ! "

This immensely remote corner of the Amazon was not somewhere where a man's scream was often heard. Or, ever, for that matter.

It was the _Amazon_, of course. Home of the Crested Eagle, and the Anaconda. The Jaguar, and the Macaw. The calls and sounds of these animals were the usual soundtrack of the rainforest. As the beep of traffic was to a city's downtown, or the clatter of roller skates of one of that city's lush parks, or the roar of jet engines to an airport, the jungle had its own.

**" Aaaaaagghhh... Ahhhhhhahhhhh! "**

The yells of pure, unfiltered pain bursting out of the cone-shaped pit, covered with a metal grate that barely allowed in even hints of sunlight, gouged out of the Earth were not one of them.

Well, not until the Federation came along. They made their own addition.

" **HEEEESSHH** !...ACCCH...GHHHH..HUUUUUGH.**BRO**\- ! "

A string of wet, gurgling hacks cut off the rest of the captive's shouting. It wasn't the kind of gurgling that came of a buildup of phlegm in the throat, either, needless to say.

The color of the liquid that spat from the captive's teeth, was that of cherries.

" **HESH IS MY BROTHER, YOU BASTARDS**\- !"

Another blood-spattered , chest- tearing coughing series ensued, along with several wheezing, stuttering gasps that sounded like they were taking the last dregs of air from a set of overly used lungs and badly abused vocal cords. Which they were.

Observing with great interest, Gabriel Rourke was impressed that Logan was able to shout that loudly. Or at_ all._

The lacerations that were carved into Logan's exposed chest and back, resembling red trenches, along with the puncture wounds that looked like someone had sunk sharpened pencils in ( Rourke had actually had needle pointed sticks used instead ) , and _each_ surrounded by smears and stains of crimson, were a testament to the through nature of the Federation's technique.

That the Walker boy was still capable of summoning the energy to scream at such volume, though ? Rourke found that noteworthy.

_He will be an excellent hunter_, the former Ghost decided. _He hasn't even begun to weep._

_Yet. We are still early in the process. But, you cannot rush quality. The Federation will have its Anti-Ghosts, so we do it right._

_Let's find out how long you last, Walker. Before your brother finds you as the apex enemy of America I will forge you into._

With that, Rourke signaled the alteration team that they could begin again. The leader nodded, and held up a long, gleaming stainless steel tool.

Its tip was forked the way a snake's tongue was.

Minutes later, the primal bellow of raw agony exploded from the pit, in the form of one word:

**" HEEEEEEEEEEEESHHHHHH- ! "**

And, again:

**" HESH ! HEEEEEEESHH...! HEEEEEEESH ! "**

And again:

" **HEE...aghhh...UCCCCKKKK UGH...HEEEEEEEESHH ! "**

And, on it went.

And on, and on.

And on.


End file.
